“She’s probably in the dressing room.” She stretched, and recoiled as her foot touched the icy sheets on Rose’s side of the bed. She pulled the coverlet closer and curled into a warm ball.
Amy went to check and returned to poke her again. “No she isn’t! Lord Bryant is downstairs with his coach, and your mother is waiting on you and Rose in the breakfast room. She sent me up here to fetch you.”
Meg sat up, and stared at her sister’s empty pillow. The valise she’d carefully packed for her sister the night before was gone. Meg looked around the room, instantly awake.
She pulled on her robe. “Did you check the library? The kitchen?”
Amy set her hands on her hips. “I just came from the kitchen!”
Flora burst in. “Marguerite, you’re still in bed! It’s past eight, and we must leave immediately. The roads are—” She bustled into the dressing room, and came right back out again. “Where’s Rose?”
In the doorway, John, their manservant, waited to carry the luggage downstairs.
Meg felt a moment’s panic, and squelched it.
“She isn’t here, my lady,” Amy informed her. The countess’s eyes widened.
“She’s probably downstairs somewhere,” Meg soothed. It was too soon to worry yet. “Did you look in the conservatory and the ballroom?” she asked, directing the question to John. “She always liked to play there.”
Flora put her fingers to her temples and shut her eyes. “Those rooms have been locked for months, and she’s not a child anymore. She’s almost a married woman, and this is no time for games!”
“John, Amy, go and see if you can find her,” Meg directed the servants. When they’d gone, she put her arm around her mother and led her to a chair. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Rose is probably flitting from room to room, looking at herself in every mirror, trying to decide which one makes her look fairest. She’ll be back momentarily, demanding John take down her favorites and ship them to Temberlay Castle.”
Footsteps thundered up the hallway, pounded in Meg’s chest, and she gripped her mother’s shoulder and stared at the door, waiting for bad news.
The countess let go of the breath she was holding as her two youngest daughters raced into the room in their nightgowns. They climbed on the bed and began jumping. Meg swallowed a sigh of relief.
“Girls, get down—” she said, trying to catch them.
“Has Rose gone already?” ten-year-old Lily asked. “I wanted to ask her to bring me a present from London.”
“I want a hair ribbon and a doll,” seven-year-old Minnie added.
“Do stop jumping,” Flora snapped. “Can’t you see there’s a crisis?”
“What’s a crisis?” Minnie asked. “Is it a sweet? I want sweets from London too, like the sugared almonds Papa used to bring.”
“I’m surprised you remember that.” Meg took a moment to smile reassuringly at her little sisters as she lifted them off the bed and set them on the floor. She kissed them on the tops of their blond heads. “Go down to the kitchen for breakfast. You’re giving Mama a headache.” She hurried into the dressing room and pulled on the first gown—the only gown—she could find. Their best dress, the one Rose was to wear this morning, was gone. Meg’s fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons. Her sister never got out of bed before being called at least twice. Meg fixed her expression into a placid smile for Flora’s sake.
John returned as she was tying her hair back with a ribbon. “No sign of her, my lady,” he reported to Flora, and sent Meg a worried glance. Meg felt her smile slip a little.